


Fifty bucks on the burly one

by canadianwheatpirates



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Root is Alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 17:02:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11994126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canadianwheatpirates/pseuds/canadianwheatpirates
Summary: "Shaw’s Tavern draws a certain type of person - often, but not always, former military - as its main clientele, and it takes more than a two-man punch-up to faze them. Shaw sets the pint on the bartop, far enough down to probably be out of the danger zone."In the time between numbers, Shaw runs a bar. Root... helps.





	Fifty bucks on the burly one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SloanGreyMercyDeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SloanGreyMercyDeath/gifts).



> I slammed this out super quickly as a response to [this post](http://maybesomedaysameen.tumblr.com/post/164878126718/in-case-you-were-wondering-what-shaw-and-root). Cross-posted to here for posterity.

“If you’re gonna fight, do it outside,” Shaw says wearily, wiping a glass clean with a rag. “I don’t have the money to be refitting this place every time two drunk assholes decide they hate each others’ faces.”

The last part is a lie; between (formerly) working for Harold and Root’s... less legal acquisitions of cash, the two of them are set for the next several lifetimes. Still, it’s the principle of the thing. 

“Fifty bucks on the burly one. And a cosmo,” calls Root as she sits down at the far end of the bar.

“You’re getting beer,” Shaw replies, drawing a pint. If Root had wanted something specific, she would have ordered it; everyone knows that Shaw’s cocktails list begins and ends with ‘on the rocks’.

“Fuck you,” slurs the not-burly man. It’s unclear who it’s directed at, if it had a target at all. A few of the regulars watch with casual interest. Shaw’s Tavern draws a certain type of person - often, but not always, former military - as its main clientele, and it takes more than a two-man punch-up to faze them. Shaw sets the pint on the bartop, far enough down to  _probably_  be out of the danger zone.

Burly’s face has, somehow, turned an even deeper shade of red than when he’d first stood up. He throws a sloppy punch, and misses entirely. Shaw leaps over the bar and tackles him. He curses and trips backwards at the impact, crashing through a table as he falls. There’s the crackle of a taser - must be Root - and a thump as the other man hits the floor.

“Now,” Shaw says evenly, pinning Burly down and twisting his arms behind him, “I’m gonna take your phone number, and tomorrow, I’m going to call and talk paying for damages.”

“Argh, shit, fuck, alright!”

Standing up, she dusts herself off; a few splinters fall to the floor. One of the onlookers nods at her. Burly glances at the door, counts the number of people between him and it, and then sidles up to the bar. 

“What should we do with this one?” Root asks, nudging the other man with her toe.

“Fuck if I know, you tased him.” Shaw picks him up - god he’s light, he wouldn’t have lasted a second against Burly - and props him up in a chair. 

“Quiet night,” Root says as Shaw slips back behind the bar. It’s not a question; there are enough cameras in the tavern for The Machine to have told her. 

“Quiet for you too.” She casts a critical eye over Root. “Not a scratch.”

Root leans forward, trailing a black fingernail along the woodgrain. “Breaking and entering is easy. She says good job, by the way - letting those two have at it would have broken more than just the table.”

“Figured as much.” Shaw prints out Burly’s bill; he writes a phone number at the bottom with shaking hands, slams a handful of cash on the bar, and flees as fast as his staggering legs will carry him. She grabs Root’s beer and takes a swig as she watches him go. 

“When’s last call?” Root asks. There’s breathing space, now, between the DC team and Fusco helping to run the numbers. Time. Time enough for the occasional lazy morning, for running a bar most nights - and for minor theft, apparently. She’s been on the receiving end of Root’s chirpy larceny updates all evening.

“Give it another hour or so. Gotta let him wake up, for starters.” She nods at Root’s taser victim, still passed out and drooling. Root steals back her pint and pouts.

“A whole hour before I can drag you upstairs... good thing I like watching you work.” She winks over the top of the glass.

Shaw snorts, and lets the ghost of a smile touch her lips. 


End file.
